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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752185">The Wall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eon_s/pseuds/eon_s'>eon_s</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gorillaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(fuck i love that those are both tags), 2D is told to git gud at sex, Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Coitus Interruptus, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Penetration in Two Holes, F/M, Hotel Sex, Inappropriate Erections, Loud Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, This Is STUPID, Threesome, Voyeurism, auditory voyeurism? like listening to people fuck, bragging about how good at sex you are while having the sex, generic american groupies, maybe highkey, murdoc is rude to his hookups lowkey, murdoc is the embodiment of entitled voyeur lol, murdoc why are you like this, now there's a chapter with the roles reversed, ruined orgasm, what the fuck is this and why the fuck did i write it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 11:29:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eon_s/pseuds/eon_s</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>NOW WITH AN EPILOGUE/SEQUEL CHAPTER</p><p>Set ambiguously while the band is on tour and reasonably getting along, while Murdoc is still being a self-absorbed bag of dicks, 2D is still spineless, Russel is done with everyone's shit, and Noodle must be protected at all costs. Also they're in America touring, but I haven't tied this to any particular tours. (Fucking sue me, I just wrote this because I needed to distract myself from my wreck of a life lmao)</p><p>AKA the fic where 2D draws the short straw and gets to spend a night listening to Murdoc fucking some groupies through thin hotel walls. and like most of my smut, it's more depressing situational schadenfreude comedy than actual sex.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Murdoc Niccals/Original Character(s), Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one goes out to my neighbours who fucked for like 2 solid hours tonight. They're still at it. Unfortunately, they are less sexy than anything in this fic, and unfortunately for me (not for them i guess, they seem happy) they are a) very vanilla, b) very heterosexual, c) very old, and d) very LOUD. (More power to them having fun I suppose. I'm not judging as much as I'm salty because I'm tired of hearing it and as a single pringle who can't hookup because Covid, all their married boring regular sex is like salt in a wound lol.) But I am not above using this as a branching off point for writing fanfiction. If I'm forced to endure listening to this, then I'll be damned if I can't milk the tragicomedy of my life for fan content for a virtual band. ;_;</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>They’re in a hotel and 2D can’t sleep.</p><p>This is not unexpected, not with Murdoc roomed next store. Out of a mutual understanding, Russel and Stu always make an effort to ensure Noodle is always kept in the room farthest from the bassist’s because, well, he fucks on tour. A lot. And it’s loud.</p><p>“And there’s no way I want her hearin' that shit,” Russel says flatly. 2D nods frantically.</p><p>“Absolutely – no one should hear their parents – father figure – guardian – at it. I heard my parents at it once. It was horrible.”</p><p>“Everyone’s heard it once – that shit happens – but it’s one thing to hear some normal quiet married people fuckin' and to hear the kind of shit Murdoc gets up to. I swear, the last time, I heard a dog toy, man. Squeakin’ and shit.”</p><p>Russel looks slightly ill.</p><p>“I don’t want to hear that shit again.”</p><p>“No, I get it, but – but someone’s got to share a wall with him.”</p><p>“I know. Noodle’s out. So you and me – we take turns. Deal?”</p><p>2D swallowed hard at the prospect.</p><p>“D-deal.”</p><p>Of course it’d be one thing if Murdoc was a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy, but he isn’t. He draws it out. That’s what drives 2D up the bloody wall. He lies awake and stares at the digital read-out on his phone’s clock. They’ve been at it since half-one, and it’s nearly three.</p><p>The nameless woman gasps loud and 2D sighs, trying to ignore how it makes his cock twitch. Because that – that’s a thing. That’s a thing that Russel isn’t worried about – or if he is, he’s kept it under the tightest of wraps. 2D can’t imagine their drummer sharing his predilection for grunting green man-sluts and auditory voyeurism. He’s too well-adjusted, comparatively, which really doesn’t make sense – isn’t fair – because yeah, Stu heard his parents at it one time, but he didn’t – it didn’t make him – like this. It wasn’t supposed to make <em>anyone</em> like this.</p><p>He wishes – not for the first time – that his head were less muddled, that he could reason it out. But maybe there’s nowt to reason – maybe he’s cursed into eternal horniness and inappropriate erections.</p><p>“Oh, fuck, she’s tight –!”</p><p>A man – not Murdoc – whines. He’s got a nasal, flat sort of voice. 2D faintly remembers some surfer looking fuckboy with a girlfriend with pontoon breasts loitering around after the show.</p><p>
  <em>2 quid says it’s them. God, you’d think they’d keep it down – not even their room. Rude.</em>
</p><p>“You gotta try her, man. Gotta try this pussy.”</p><p>American dirty talk is always disappointing to some extent – it’s fundamentally similar enough that it ought to, and does, get the job done – but somehow it always falls short of sounding sincere. There’s something manufactured and inorganic about it that 2D can’t really explain.</p><p>“Look at that – dripping. Very nice…”</p><p>Murdoc’s voice is sandpaper rough and so fucking smug it should turn his stomach but it just makes him harder.</p><p>
  <em>It’s the accent. I’m homesick is all.</em>
</p><p>It <em>does </em>feel familiar, but that’s not the whole of it and he knows it, which makes it worse. It’s – fuck – it’s the <em>sleaze.</em></p><p>“Spread ‘em wider, luv. There you go. Lovely… pretty as a picture.”</p><p>There’s a chorus of grunts and then a pause. Then the bed starts rocking.</p><p>“Ooh, that is <em>niiiiiice.”</em></p><p>“T-told you,” the American groans. “Told you she’d be – ah – good.”</p><p><em>God, they’re both in her.</em> If a thought can whimper, that one surely does. 2D bites his lip and presses the heel of his hand against the granite fucking pillar he’s sporting. He’s always wondered what that’d be like, having a girl while another man used her arse.</p><p>“Oh – you slipped out,” she moans, disappointed. Then yowls in what sounds like surprised pleasure.</p><p>“Don’t mind me, honey – just taking a detour. Room enough for two, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>She screams something inarticulate that sounds like <em>fuckyeahfuckmefuckfuck </em>and 2D’s eyes go wide.</p><p>They’re both in her – in the same –<em>?!</em></p><p>“No fair,” he whispers, curling his toes in frustration. He can’t help but picture it, his own pale member next to Murdoc’s greenish one sliding into some tight quim. He can’t fathom it – would they move in tandem, or would they go one at a time, sliding up and down each other, balls rubbing –</p><p>“Be a good sport, now, let me have a go.”</p><p>2D furrow’s his brow at that, hesitating, fiddling with the drawstring on the tracksuit bottoms he’s been lounging in. He can’t picture what they’re doing – it’s just a collection of soft sighs and squeaking springs – and the uncertainty leaves room for anxiety to creep in. Am I sick for listening to a mate like this? Has he ever listened to <em>me?</em></p><p>“Oh, don’t looks so dejected, sweetheart – you can sit on his face.”</p><p>It takes Stu exactly until Murdoc hisses out a ‘slow down, you stupid bloody cowboy’ that he realizes. It’s up Murdoc’s arse – the penis of that stupid Yank, glazed like a donut with the juices of the whimpering girl.</p><p>“Theeeeeeeeeeeeere we go,” Murdoc groans, bottoming out, and 2D can’t help it. He reaches down and palms himself – just once – just to get a sense of how deep into the shit he is. Fuck – he’s neck deep for sure. He’s got a wet spot – he’s leaking precum like a faucet – wet as that shrill-voiced American tart.</p><p>“Now <em>this </em>is how you ride a bull, luv. Yankee-doodle rock and roll, ha ha heh–” Murdoc breaks out, wheezing out a rattling smoker’s cough before the bedsprings begin to squeak in earnest.</p><p>He sounds out of it – high as a kite – and the girl is too loud – and the stupid American fuckboy is making an unappealing sound like a bull bellowing now – but it’s still, somehow, the most erotic thing 2D’s ever experienced, even indirectly.</p><p>“Gimme it like you mean it, come on – I can take it,” Murdoc hisses. He almost sounds angry.</p><p>“You’re supposed to be licking me, babe,” the girl whinges.</p><p>“Oh, shut up – this isn’t about <em>you. He's busy.”</em></p><p>“Don’t talk to her like that ma-ahhhn. Shit!”</p><p>“Mm, not bad, is it? That’s the mark of a man with dedication – someone who’s taken the t-time to <em>traaaaaaaaaaaain his sphincterrrr.”</em></p><p>There’s a pause – it sounds like the bassist is running out of breath, which, with how forcefully he’s fucking, isn’t hard to believe.</p><p>“I can open a jar with it, you know. I’m <em>that good.</em>”</p><p>“I wanna have a turn!”</p><p>“Don’t pout, luv. It does you no favours. Go wait in the hall if you’re going to start sulking.”</p><p>“But – that’s not fair!”</p><p>“Yeah, man, we’re a packaged deal.”</p><p>“Well, unless you want deal with your package alone, you’ll finish what you <em>fucking started.</em>”</p><p>Even with a wall between them, 2D swallows hard, flinching. Murdoc can be damned intimidating when he wants to be, even – evidently – with a Yank’s cock up his arse.</p><p>The fucking builds to it’s inevitable crescendo after that, and 2D can’t hear the girl anymore so she either stepped off to the side to finish herself off, or she’s left in a huff. Either way, he can’t care, not when all he can picture in his mind is Murdoc and his stupidly superior riding skills.</p><p>“That’s it – keep that up, and I’ll –”</p><p>Someone, somewhere in the hotel, flushes a toilet, and the pipes between 2D’s head and the action rush to life, drowning out the climax with a sudden roar of water and sewage. He tries to stop himself from going over, tries desperately to strain and hear through the sudden burst of noise, but it’s no use. He cums passively, scarcely feeling it, hand uselessly clenching in thin air in a hopeless attempt to stop the eruption.</p><p>When the pipes go silent at last, Murdoc’s bickering with the American, telling him to go find his girlfriend and not to let the door hit him on the way out. 2D flops back onto his bed, pressing an uncomfortable hotel pillow over his face, and mutters profanities under his breath until it tires him out enough to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Oops there's more</p><p>set sometime after the first chapter. months? weeks? who knows</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>Murdoc is no stranger to anger, but the level of simmering fury and pure hatred he feels for the guest in his bandmate’s hotel room – in his <em>bed – </em>is startling in its potency.</p><p>2D is not a loud shag, generally speaking. He’s typically all soft sighs and stammered, overwhelmed praise – the kind of stuff you’d have to glue your ear to a wall to even hear a smattering of. He doesn’t often talk during sex, but when he does, it’s mostly giddy babbling and a lot of ‘thank you’ and ‘oh wow’. It isn’t sexy. Murdoc understands sexy, knows sexy, <em>is</em> sexy – he considers himself to be a connoisseur of all things filthy and debauched. 2D’s gentle whimpers are more pathetic than anything else. Normally. When he’s heard them before.</p><p>But this is different. 2D is making more noise than he’s ever made in the years they’ve known each other. And it’s no bird he’s blubbering over, either. It’s a <em>man.</em> And Murdoc – well – he’s infuriated. How did he not know about this? How was he not let in on this particular secret? Did the rest of the band know? Did they all conspire to hide the truth from him – some kind of – of fucking vow of silence to ensure that ol’ Muds didn’t set eyes on their singer?</p><p>
  <em>What’s that fucking groupie got that I don’t, anyway?</em>
</p><p>“Oh, um, do you mind if I – just – s’easier with a cushion…”</p><p>“You okay, mate? You’re pretty tight.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m just – I don’t get to do this much. S’awkward on tour, innit? Thin walls.”</p><p><em>Oh, shut up, </em>Murdoc sneers. How dare he play the concerned party when he’s making little mewling noises as he takes it up the tailpipe?</p><p>“Oh, wow. Wow! You’re – ah – really good at that.”</p><p>“Thanks. I must say, I’m a little nervous. I’ve never shagged a celebrity before.”</p><p>“I like to think I’ve got an – oh! – unassuming, down to earth kind of a vibe.”</p><p>Satan’s churning ballsack, this is gratuitously stupid. He sounds <em>ridiculous. </em>Who talks like that during sex? Honestly? It sounds like a work of bloody satire, is what it sounds like. If it were anyone else, Murdoc would say he was putting it on, but 2D doesn’t strike him as clever enough to manage it and even if he was, to what end? What could anyone gain from being the sexual equivalent of a plain slice of soft bread, all bland and worthless?</p><p>2D’s moaning now, consistently, in rhythm with the nameless groupie’s thrusts. At least that sounds alright, if a bit girly, but he supposes he can’t blame Stu for taking the twink affectation and running with it. Not everyone can pull off being a total stud.</p><p>Glowering, Murdoc reaches down to his aching cock and gives it an unforgiving tug.</p><p>The whole situation makes him feel like the butt of a joke and he doesn’t like it. He glares at the wall as though he hopes to burn through it with his stare. He wishes, not for the first time in his life, that he had laser eyes. He imagines setting that stupid interloper alight and watching him go up in a puff of smoke, leaving 2D gaping and unfulfilled.</p><p>
  <em>I’d fuck you better than that wet rag of a man. Give you something to really write home about.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, I love what you’ve done to your hair by the way. Is that supposed to be a heart?”</p><p>“I was going for a music note actually. I’m not sure it comes across.”</p><p>“Mm… thought it was a heart. But it’s still cute. I figured you dyed it, you know – didn’t expect you to be blue down here too.”</p><p>The sad attempt at bedroom conversation makes Murdoc snort. <em>Clearly not a real fan, then. Stu’s hardly shy about telling people his hair’s all-natural.</em></p><p>“Wow – that’s – that’s good. When you tickle it like that.”</p><p>“You like that?”</p><p>“Yes, I’d like more of it, please.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, for sure. I can do that again. Hang on – my wrist gets a bit stiff when I – could you roll over like – ah – like that. Hey, thanks, that’s – nngh – perfect, actually.”</p><p>“Sorry – I didn’t mean to hurt your wrist.”</p><p>“It’s not you – I just – office work, y’know? Too much time typing away.”</p><p>A creak of a mattress – as though they’ve stopped to chat.</p><p>“Y’know Noodle – our Noodle – she bought me this little hand warmer you plug into your computer. I always get cold hands and it makes it hard to practice in the mornings sometimes. So she – s-she got me this little – it looks like a cat but it’s flat like a sort of a mitten, really. You put your hands in. Warm as toast.”</p><p>“Gosh, I should get me one of those.”</p><p>“S’a good investment. Works on – mm – USB.”</p><p>“Does it take – oh yeah, fuck, like that – does it take long to ch-charge?”</p><p>“Not – ah – not too long…”</p><p>Murdoc rolls his eyes as he rolls his foreskin back and forth, dragging guitar-string calloused fingers over himself with familiar precision. He doesn’t know who he is most angry at – 2D for talking about a fucking hand warmer during sex, his nameless date for bringing up his stupid useless wrists, or himself for wanking to it.</p><p>“Oi!” he hollers, kicking the wall with the flat of his foot. “If you’re going to be loud, at least make an effort. No one cares about your carpal tunnel, office boy!”</p><p>The pair falls silent on the other side of the wall.</p><p>“I am <em>so sorry</em>,” Murdoc hears 2D stammering, mortification heavy in his voice. “Our bassist is – he’s – he’s a bit of a cunt sometimes.”</p><p>“It’s – not your fault. I just – maybe I should go.”</p><p>Hah. Office boy sounds humiliated. That, at least, is funny enough to warrant a grin.</p><p>“You don’t have to –”</p><p>“I’m just – I’m not comfortable doing this if I know he’s just sitting there judging us.”</p><p>Murdoc expects to feel smug satisfaction when he hears the man gather his clothes and leave, but he just feels frustrated. He hears a bit of sniffling coming through the wall, and then suddenly a fist pounds on it, angry and sharp.</p><p>“You’re a shit, you know that? You’re such an arsehole sometimes – I – I can’t believe you!”</p><p>“Yeah, well, you’re a bad lay,” he retorts automatically. “Leave the one-night stands to me, faceache. You’re embarrassing yourself.”</p><p>He tries to relish in the soft crying that follows until the early hours of the morning. He tries to blame the part of himself that feels like shit on the fact that he didn’t come, and that it’s all just his body’s way of punishing him for not following through.</p><p>He’s not sure just how successful he really is at convincing himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you may thank and/or kill me for<br/>1. the title<br/>2. the mental image of murdoc opening jars with his asshole</p></blockquote></div></div>
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